


Forgetting

by lanoshea



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, especially when it comes to these idiots, i have a hard time writing anything other than fluff, idk man i love the little things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanoshea/pseuds/lanoshea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boundaries are crossed and rewritten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgetting

She could feel it in the way her eyes lingered just slightly too long on the pinch of his nose. She saw it in the way they stood, their bodies at first a slant and now a confrontation. She noticed how the compulsion to walk so close to each other was unnecessary yet all the while needed.  
  
When Jenny told her of how highly regarded he held her, Abbie only laughed. She’d never admit it but she found her last thought to be of him before succumbing to sleep. Ichabod’s twenty-first century frustrations. The boyish quality he possesses when he can relate. His hands. He’d held them out to her, not in a dire situation, but in a small moment of glee, of forgetting where he is, forgetting who he is,  
  
Forgetting. That’s where it all started truly.  
  
But boundaries are more often ignored than forgotten.  
  
***  
  
Things aren’t hard to recall when you’ve got a photographic memory. Ichabod has taught himself how to block most things out.  
  
Its nagging there, at the back of his mind. The thought of her. It begins as a small tie, something easily broken. He’s rapidly feeling the effects, flushing out her character and wanting to know more, more, more. The tie becomes a knot, the knot becomes a web. Eventually, webs become tangled.  
  
***  
  
Denial. That is all the lieutenant has going for her right now. Just deny that it ever happened and things will go back to the way they were. But she knows him now. He will insist on talking about it (she really wants to talk about it) and she cannot (she doesn’t want things to change) have that conversation (she wants so badly for things to change).  
  
She hates that she needs someone and they need her. (She likes it quite a lot).  
  
***  
  
On the drive to his cabin, Abbie blasts the radio loud enough to block all thought or nerves that might set in.  
  
Sure enough, he has mulled over this far too long. Ichabod has trouble looking at her as he strides toward the car. Being the gentleman he is, she doesn’t even have a chance to unbuckle when he’s opening her door.  
  
His hand is light on her back as he leads her towards the porch. It’s not exactly a recurring gesture.  
  
She halts him on the threshold.  He asks the one question she finds so ridiculous in this moment.  
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
He’s eyeing the angry line etched there, right below her jaw.  
  
“Yeah, sure. I’m battling a prophecy; some lowlife fanatic trying to carve a line into my neck is nothing.”  
  
“Ms. Mills.”  
  
“When will be the last time I tell you to call me Abbie?”  
  
“As soon as you start calling me ‘Ichabod.’”  
  
He has her there. “Look, Crane. This army is growing too big; we have to focus on the future.”  
  
“While I do agree, I think we can afford a small amount of time to discuss last night.”  
  
“What happened last night?”  
  
“Don’t be coy. You may have fooled those who persecuted you, but I am a little bit more perceptive.”  
  
She has that smirk on her face, the one that Ichabod knows not to mess with. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.”  
  
“Lieutenant.”  
  
“Why are you so angry?”  
  
“Because we kissed and you refuse to admit to it!”  
  
It stuns her into silence, having it all laid out before them.  
  
“I apologize for raising my voice, but I wish you would take this seriously.”  
  
“I do. That’s why I don’t want to talk about it. I’ll start questioning everything.”  
  
“It’s healthy to question.”  
  
“Not in this case." She's leaned too close to him and his hands are clenched at his sides like he's resisting the urge to touch her.  She is the first to push away. "I’m sorry.”  
  
He won’t pull her back as she turns to leave. He only follows silently.

***

  
The scar on Abbie's neck is barely healed the next week. She notices Ichabod in her peripheral glancing at it while they're in the archives.  
"Focus, Crane."

His eyes quickly dart to the text he is holding. A few moments pass before he speaks. "I just wish I could've done something to prevent it."

Abbie has to stop herself from taking offense, when she realizes what he is referring to. "It's just a scratch."

"Don't say that. You could've died."

At that, she turns toward him. "Hey. I'm alive, aren't I? Fighting hell isn't exactly going to leave me unmarked."

He looks as if he wants to argue further but thinks the better of it, then starts toward the exit, mumbling something about coffee. She looks up when he stops and turns slightly in her direction.

"I care about you very much, Ms.- Abbie. You don't know how much it would hurt me if you were to die. That's all."

***  
Abbie loses count of the times she almost kisses him in the next few days. Even in his most frustrating moments, all she wants is to grab him by the lapels.

Once she finally does, Ichabod is the first to break contact, although reluctantly.

"Is this your way of acknowledgement?"

"Shut up before I change my mind."

And he does.

***  
Kissing isn't exactly a new thing for Ichabod, but he quickly learns that each woman is different.

While he is slow-moving, she is all urgency. It takes a while, but they find their rhythm.

She loves the way he says her full name when he’s trailing kisses from her ear "Ms." to her jaw, "Grace" even her nose, "Abigail" ending at her lips "Mills." 

She doesn't love it so much when he stops.

***

They try to keep the displays of affection off the radar, just for the sake of professionalism. One day they’re caught.

The archives have become the general meeting place for Abbie, Jenny, and Ichabod, so it shouldn’t be surprising that they all have a key.

Jenny had left hours ago to try and catch some sleep and Ichabod is on the cusp of figuring out who or what their next demon was. Abbie is promptly falling asleep at her laptop.

The only way she can think of keeping herself up is to replace the book in Ichabod’s lap with herself. She swings her legs up so that she is lying sideways and wraps her arms around his neck.

“You’re making it very hard to concentrate, Miss Mills.” He hooks his arms under her legs, pulling her as close as possible.

“That’s the point, Mr. Crane.”

He leans in just as they hear the lock outside turning and Jenny comes rushing in with a hand covering her eyes like a partition. “Don’t mind me, just forgot something.” Ichabod and Abbie are frozen in place, staring at each other with wide eyes and smiles that are growing larger with embarrassment. “Continue… whatever you were doing.”

Jenny’s laughter is echoed throughout the building as she leaves.

Abbie covers her face with her hands. “That’s going to be a fun conversation tomorrow.” Ichabod stands, now carrying her out the door, into the hallway. “You know, in some cultures this is what married people do on their wedding night, although the origin of that ritual is far from romantic.”

He smiles slightly at the thought. “You’re tired. And blathering.”

“I’m not,” her voice switches to a mocking English accent “ _Blathering_.”

“Let’s get you home before you start a whole monologue.”

“ _Aye, aye Capt_ -.”

“Goodnight, lieutenant.”

**Author's Note:**

> This hiatus is killing me and its only been a week. The preview though, with Abbie crying and the hand holding lol bye  
> ~the old me's dead and gone~


End file.
